


Have Little Voice to Speak With (A Mind of Thoughts and Secrecy)

by arctichalsey



Series: Just a Young Heart, Confusing My Mind [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Luke's an asshole for most of this ngl, Mean Luke, Sad Michael, everyone makes michael out to be the bad guy and i just wanted to switch it around, it's tagged underage because they're like 15-16, like it's always michael making luke sad, like think of year ten "we hate each other era", maybe part two?, origin of "shut up luke"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:38:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arctichalsey/pseuds/arctichalsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He broke himself from his inner turmoil and tried, once again, to get a friendly conversation with Luke rolling. "Um, the, uh, the way your strings, kinda, curl out, over the head part," his fingers were burning with how hard he was wringing his own hands. "I can ... I can show you, uh, how to string your guitar without those, um, sticking out."</p><p>Luke didn't even bother to look up. "I'd rather not, thank you."</p><p>(or, Luke hates Michael, so Michael hates him right back)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have Little Voice to Speak With (A Mind of Thoughts and Secrecy)

**Author's Note:**

> so i was torturing myself and reading one of those fics where michael and luke despise each other - but they all have the same plot line of michael being the hugest prick in the world. someone commented on how michael is always mean so i switched it up.
> 
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated (^:

"Please, I know you don't like him," Calum pleaded, "but _please_  try to be friends with him? He's really good on guitar and he can sing, too, he can be our lead, or something."

Michael frowned at him, and sighed, kicking a sock-covered foot at the younger boy's side. "Fine. I'll try. He likes Blink, right?" Michael mused quietly, mostly to himself. "Shouldn't be too hard to get him to like me."

"It's hard to get anyone to like you, Michael." Calum's voice lilted in a tease, poking Michael in the side and laughing at the way the older boy flinched and nearly fell off the couch he was lying on.

"Shut up, you're stupid," Michael whined. His insults were getting worse by the day, he was inwardly disappointed with his lack of jokes to make about Calum's nose or mom.

"Anyways, Luke should be he-"

"Calum? Your friend is here," Calum's mom (though Michael called her _mom_ , too) called from the main room. Calum smiled and excitedly jerked Michael's arm closer.

"He's here! You two can finally become friends or something," Calum said excitedly. "You have your guitar, right? I think he brought his."

The door to the den opened, and in walked five-foot-six feet of awkward and blonde. Calum's mom was beaming behind Luke, who was smiling sweetly. Michael smiled, too, because he could definitely see himself being friends with Luke now. If Calum's mom liked someone, so did Michael.

"I'm so happy you two are making more friends," the commentary wasn't mean, but it was teasing, and Calum play-scowled at his mother.

"Mo-o-o-m!"

"Okay, okay, I'll leave you three alone." Before she had a chance to close the door, Calum jumped up, excusing himself past Luke after quickly slapping him on the shoulder.

"M'gonna get Mikey's and my guitars, yeah? Be right back," he said, a bit too enthusiastically, as he flashed his hundred-watt smile towards Michael and gestured pointedly at the guitar case on Luke's shoulder when the blonde boy wasn't looking.

Michael forced a smile and Calum was gone, shutting the door behind him.

"Hi, Luke!" Michael said, trying to remain enthusiastic because he loved Calum, he really did, and just wanted his best friend happy.

"Yeah," Luke muttered, the sweet smile gone the second Calum had left. Michael frowned as Luke sat on the ground the farthest from the couch he could, unzipping his case and pulling out a homey looking, well used guitar.

"You play much?" Michael asked, still keeping his tone light and happy because maybe Luke was just antisocial or shy. Yeah, that had to be it.

Luke frowned, glancing up. "Obviously?" He ducked his head back down and began tuning the instrument, completely by ear, and some of the strings were off by a few sharps or flats because Michael had taught himself to tune by ear two summers ago and liked to think he was good at it.

"Um, your A," Michael said awkwardly. Luke glanced up and Michael shoved aside his dirty blonde fringe, cringing at how sweaty his hands were and dropped them into his lap, wringing his fingers out because fuck he was nervous for some reason. "It's ... It's a bit sharp."

Luke smiled, a cruel, cold smile that was so much unlike the sugary one he had for Joy and Calum. "You're right. Thanks, Micah." His tone was sharper than the half of his strings he'd barely tuned.

"It's..." Michael frowned, the nervousness curling itself in his stomach and he felt like he was about to throw up. Was there something wrong with him? Did he stink, or something? Was it his hair? No, it couldn't be, because Luke's was styled the same. Maybe it was his outfit. Who wears hoodies in Australia?

He broke himself from his inner turmoil and tried, once again, to get a friendly conversation with Luke rolling. "Um, the, uh, the way your strings, kinda, curl out, over the head part," his fingers were burning with how hard he was wringing his own hands. "I can ... I can show you, uh, how to string your guitar without those, um, sticking out."

Luke didn't even bother to look up. "I'd rather not, thank you."

Before Michael could _actually_  begin to cry, Calum walked back in, the two guitars in each hand. Michael nearly hugged the boy for saving him (he was one for dramatics) and gladly took his guitar from Calum's outstretched hand.

"Here, Mikey. Ooh, yikes, Luke, your strings are sticking out pretty bad." Calum commented, sitting next to _Luke_  on the  _floor_  rather than where he was on the _couch_  with _Michael_  earlier. "I can restring it right now if you want?"

Luke smiled, that sugary sweet smile that Michael thought was gone for good, and passed over his guitar. "Really? Thank god, I've been wanting to for _months_ , but no one's offered or shown me."

Michael didn't cry in front of others. Like, ever. But he was coming pretty damn close.

Calum glanced at Michael with narrowed eyes and shook his head disapprovingly when Luke's eyes were focused on Calum unrigging the strings. Michael knew Calum's eye language, and knew that that was Calum-eye-language for "do you really need to be such a prick?"

Michael didn't respond in Michael-eye-language, instead glancing down at his guitar and beginning to tune it (by ear).

And if he had to wipe a tear off of the fretboard, that was no ones business.

 

* * *

 

"He just _hates_  me, Cal."

"Well, that's because you hate him."

"I wouldn't if he didn't hate me!"

 

* * *

 

 

"Ashton," Calum whined, scooting across the ground to latch onto Ashton's shoulders. "Michael's being mean."

"I just don't think Katy Perry's hot!"

"Michael, don't be a hoe," Ashton replied automatically, not even glancing up from his English textbook. 'Band practise' apparently became study time because there wasn't a single instrument out and everyone had at least one stack of sheetwork in front of them.

"I'm not ... fine," Michael grumbled. Luke laughed, mean and clearly directed at Michael being ganged up on, and Michael glanced up half heartedly. Four months. It'd been four months since the meeting that left Michael in tears and left Calum confused as to why Michael was begging not to be friends with him, and Luke still spat insults and everyone figured it was their way of 'getting along'.

In those four months, Michael had grown an inch and a half, Ashton and joined the band, and they wrote a few songs. Michael was quite upset that Luke was just as good in person at singing and playing as he was in the videos he posted, and nearly worked his fingers to the bone on his damn guitar practising song upon song just so he could be better than him.

Michael was just a bit petty.

"Ash," Luke groaned suddenly. "Make me a sandwich?"

"Fat chance."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Luke!" Calum gasped, pretending to be offended. "Why, I'm just _appalled_  at that language!"

Luke blushed and groaned again, "I'm sorry, Calum. Make me a sandwich?"

"Me too?" Ashton said hopefully. Calum snorted.

"Fat chance," he mocked in a deep, nasally voice, hauling himself up and stretching before walking to the kitchen. "Peanut butter and jelly, Luke?"

"Actually-"

"Wasn't actually a question."

"Wait, I don't sound like that," Ashton whined, Olympic sprinting to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich before Calum could use all of the peanut butter and jelly for Luke's.

It left Michael and Luke alone, a dangerous combination that threatened to detonate at any second.

The air was tense and Michael only realised he was highlighting over a picture instead of words when he accidentally ran the pen itself off the page and drew onto his hand.

"Shit," he mumbled, scrubbing the open palm on his thigh.

"Ooh, wasn't aware we were talking about your guitar playing," Luke mocked, and Michael glanced up in surprise. "Or maybe it was your singing? Or just you, in general."

"Y'know, Hemmings, for someone who's so nice in front of Calum and Ashton, you're a fucking prick when they're not around," Michael snarled, because Luke's words stung at his own insecurities and arguing with him just wasn't fun.

Luke laughed, like it was all some sort of game to him and he was on the last level, close to beating it and winning and holy _shit_  was he close to winning. "M'not a prick, I'm just honest," he was smiling, a bit too wide and triumphant.

"Well-"

"Don't get why you're still in the band," Luke shrugged, and Michael froze. This was territory they'd never treaded into before, and Michael was locking up as he felt his hands grow clammy.

"Don't get why you are, either," he rebutted lamely. He wrung his hands together and winced as he pushed against his blistered fingertips.

" _Obviously_ ," Luke began, "I'm the guitarist. We've got a drummer, and a bassist, too. Hell, us three can sing," Luke laughed, ugly and mean, and Michael was shaking in his sweater and stupid jean shorts as he wrung his hands harder. "What're you? The pity member?"

"I can play guitar better than you."

"Hardly. Besides, who's written most of our songs and even the guitar _riffs_ , since you're so concerned with being better than me?"

The answer was Luke. And it was always gonna be _Luke_.

Who was better than him at everything? Luke.

Who did Calum and Ashton like more? Luke.

Who was most likely to be listened to when he wanted Michael out of the band? Luke.

Who was currently making Michael cry? Luke.

Michael sobbed, a wet, loud, sound, that made Luke look up in alarm because, while he's taken it far, it's never made Michael _cry_. (Well, it has, but it was under Michael's blankets with Daniel the lion in his arms and no one else in the room, so that didn't count).

Michael looked up, and Luke looked nearly guilty. He sobbed again, reaching up to wipe at his streaming eyes with the cuffs of his jacket. He was so damn insecure, of his abilities and his stupid hair and the fact that Luke was better than him, everyone liked sweet, quiet Luke and no one would ever like Michael as much, not loud, brash Michael who swore too much and could barely play guitar.

"Mikey?" Calum was rushing himself into the room, seeing Michael curled in on himself, whimpering wetly into his palm and Michael flinched when Calum pet his shoulder comfortingly.

"I'm ... I'm sorry," Michael shoved his belongings into his backpack, hustling it over his shoulder. "Luke's right. I'm really, um, really not good enough to be in the band. I'll uh, I'll just, leave you guys to it. I'm ... I'm out. Don't wanna hold you back."

He was out the door in less than thirty seconds.

 

* * *

 

"Michael, just open the door."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Please, I just, I want to apologise," Michael pressed the pillow against his face even harder as Luke pleaded behind the door. Dammit, Calum was cunning, getting into Michael's house when he knew Karen was at work and one would be there to kick Luke out.

"For what? Saying the truth? You _won_ , Luke, you wanted the band, you got the fucking band. And the band sure as hell does not need me." Michael's throat got that horrible feeling in it again and _fuck_  he was gonna cry _again_ which was the worst, really, because in his opinion he was quite the ugly crier and it would suck to look even more drugged out and stupid right now.

"Michael, it wasn't the truth, okay?" Luke cried out indignantly. Michael stayed silent. "I, I was just jealous. I wanted to be the good guitarist with the cool voice and hair and it was hard, okay? It was hard to be around you and not be jealous."

Michael hesitated before pushing himself up, stumbling awkwardly to the door (he wasn't the neatest boy in the world and probably tripped over that same pair of sweatpants four times in the past hour) and opening it to find Luke standing there, looking sorry and sincere.

But, Michael knew how good Luke was at acting by now, and didn't want to take the chance.

"You ... don't need to _lie_ , just to make me feel better."

"For gods sake, Michael, I'm not lying!" Luke cried out. "I think you're talented. I think you can play guitar better than anyone I've heard and I think you can sing the best in the band and I think your hair is cool and I like your band shirts and I'm just really sorry!" He squeaked, breathing in because he said that all in one breath and Michael was growing less cynical.

Michael's eyes fell to the floor. "I just don't _get it,_ Luke, so forgive me for being a bit skeptical," he snorted, half in sarcasm, still working through that heavy lump that had formed in the back of his throat. "I was jealous for months because Calum liked you so much more than me, but I didn't channel it into some fucked up, hate fueled-"

Luke scoffed, but it wasn't mean, it was genuinely disbelieving. "Cal never _liked_ me more than _you._ Neither does Ashton, really, Michael, I wasn't kidding," Luke looked down, pressing one foot over the other and not taking his eyes off of his beat-up Converse. "You're ... you're _cool._ And that's why I hated you, and that's why I was such an utter _scum bag_ and that's why I'm apologising and really hoping you forgive me and we can become friends."

He was doing it again, talking fast all in one breath and trying to hide his squeaky voice and small gasp after. Michael hated himself for being too damn observant and for being so damn _forgiving,_ because he was on the edge of hugging the fuck out of Luke because, as much as he hated to admit it, he _sought out_ approval. He needed it from Calum, from Ashton, hell, from _Luke,_ now, apparently. 

"I'm ..." Michael hissed out a low breath through his teeth. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Whatever, sure, I'm just - it'll take me a while, I guess, to see you as a friend, but yeah. I forgive you."

Luke smiled sheepishly and Michael had no regrets about his decision the second the boy's mouth widened to accommodate the large grin he began to sport. "Great! Yeah! Uh, um, yeah, good, that's-"

"Shut up, Luke," Michael laughed, and Luke giggled with a smile back.

Friends. That sounded good.


End file.
